


holding love

by polyjaemin



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: ..sort of, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Game of Thrones Fusion, Bathing/Washing, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Swordfighting, They're In Love Your Honor, and beyond, my universe is kinder than GoT's, referenced past johnhyuck - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-16 20:42:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21277421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polyjaemin/pseuds/polyjaemin
Summary: He’s watched fire erupt from Donghyuck’s hands, fierce and strong, unstoppable, watched it burn through cloth and skin and chains, for power, for vengeance, for freedom.But here, in Donghyuck’s tent, in the light of glowing embers and wrapped in dark shadows, there is only gentleness.game of thrones au, but a bit different, where donghyuck is dany-esque but with fire magic, and mark is his sort of jorah, always by his side.





	holding love

**Author's Note:**

> SHE'S BACK!! it's only been *looks at wrist* A Solid Year
> 
> SO. THIS !!! is a snapshot from a massive au with a gdoc almost as long as this fic, that i will probably never write, lmao. this au is really me and tayler's baby (mostly hers), and i really really hope you guys like!! it's very much GoT, but we made it our own, too. i don't think you need to have seen the show to appreciate that like... it's just markhyuck being so fucking in love. 
> 
> this is sort of the culmination at the end of a very hard journey that essentially follows dany in S1. I'd say this takes place somewhere in s2-3ish, comparatively. i will probably never write the like 200k epic that it Deserves to precede this so i just !!! skipped to the smoochies!! because i can do whatever i want!!!!!! 
> 
> please appreciate [tayler's art of this donghyuck!!!](https://twitter.com/fullsunfIower/status/1142165978064670720)
> 
> title is from _the lathe of heaven_, by ursula le guin, from this random line that just stood out to me as really lovely: _In bed, they made love. Love doesn't just sit there, like a stone, it has to be made, like bread; re-made all the time, made new. When it was made, they lay in each other's arms, holding love, asleep._

Mark has never seen anyone fight like Donghyuck.

He moves smoothly, like water and air, strong and smart. Fluid movements blend together – a turn, a hit, a rush around, like a breeze, a current. He spins weightless, lightly evading every swing of Mark’s sword like it’s a dance, a game of balance. 

It’s late afternoon, and they’re sparring in a dusty opening far from camp. The setting sun shines harshly in their eyes, gleams off the swords stretched between them as they circle each other in tandem.

The slight smile that has been playing on Donghyuck’s lips the entire fight widens as he looks across at Mark, eyes narrowed and focused but glowing with adrenaline and life and _fire_, and Mark finds him so utterly, terribly beautiful.

His skin shines in the sunlight, covered in sweat and dirt, and Mark risks breaking their eye contact to glance down at his forearm where the sword is held out in front of him, eyes running up the bold marks circling his wrists, diamonds covering his skin like dragon scales. Mark marvels at them. Though they’re familiar now, he’d hardly caught a glimpse of them for months and months of knowing Donghyuck.

But he’d heard of them long before.

Tales of the fire wielders had long since reached even the farthest corners of the earth, whispered in fear, in awe, stories of dragons and fire magic fading into legend. The royal bloodline had remained, pure and strong, ensured by centuries of political domination and intermarriage. But the dragons hadn’t been seen in generations. 

Fire wielders were said to have died out soon after them, that their blood and magic was so tied to the dragons that they simply went extinct when there were no dragons left. They were said to have lost the source, the _heart_ of their magic.

The stories were wrong. 

Donghyuck alone carried that legend with him, in his blood. He had it seared into his skin. His tattoos were symbols of his ancestry, his home, his power. His right to his Throne. They were targets.

So he’d hidden them. He’d feared them. Scales circled his wrists, and he treated them like they were shackles. 

He had them wrapped up at all times, when Mark first met him, when Donghyuck was still so young, still just a prince, traded off like silk to the Khal, in a final desperate attempt for peace, for power. Before his family back home was forced from the throne, before he’d made a new family with the Khal, and had it taken from him, too.

The wrappings had burned to ash the day he’d climbed onto the funeral pyre of his fallen husband and emerged, dragons at his feet, standing naked in the morning light, and he’d never covered them again.

The man standing before Mark now, tattoos exposed and nearly glowing a dark gold, like the setting sun, like the fire in his veins, is not afraid.

Mark does not take this honor of standing before him, of standing beside him every day, for granted.

He shuffles forward, and they resume their sparring, metal clanging together loudly. 

They’re fairly evenly matched, each having landed many of what would be killing blows were it real combat, but Mark always feels like he’s just one half-step behind Donghyuck. It’s taken him the better part of an hour to finally start to feel like he’s adjusting, learning, anticipating Donghyuck’s movements.

Donghyuck is an incredibly skilled fighter, trained since childhood by the same masters that trained his own royal guard back at his home. But for Mark, fighting is his life, his livelihood. Fighting to survive, fighting to live. 

He’s a warrior, was raised a warrior, and accepted very early in his life that he will probably die a warrior, on some battlefield fighting for something bigger than him, something worth dying for. 

Donghyuck makes him think, though, that perhaps there’s something worth living for. 

He swings in from the left, expecting Donghyuck to parry, his next three moves planned out in his mind like choreography. But instead of backing away or parrying with his blade, Donghyuck ducks, pushes his arm up to redirect Mark’s swing entirely, and delivers a punch directly to Mark’s gut.

It’s completely unexpected, and knocks the air out of him, and Donghyuck takes the opportunity to pop up and grip Mark’s arm tighter and punch it, forcing him to drop his sword. Mark recovers quickly enough to land his own punch under Donghyuck’s right ribs, and the fight is suddenly close combat.

And Donghyuck is good. He’s just as quick and balanced as he always is, and still habitually evades a lot of Mark’s blows, but he’s switched to the offensive, and Mark realizes within moments – and with a start – that his movements are undeniably _Dothraki._

He should’ve known that Donghyuck would have learned something from so much time with the Dothraki, but he’d never imagined he’d practiced their style enough to blend it with his own so flawlessly. He’d known Khal John had challenged some traditions on account of Donghyuck’s own rise to power and relentless independence, but never expected him to have taught Donghyuck _this._

It’s a sight to see.

Donghyuck spins away from Mark to avoid a punch and turns it into a swing of his sword, and Mark has to fall, scrambling to finally get his own sword back into his hand. Donghyuck gives him no time to recover, and he’s barely stood back up before Donghyuck is swinging again, and again, ignoring the hits Mark is delivering to keep pressing forward relentlessly, until a blow finally knocks Mark nearly off balance.

Mark’s knows instantly that it’s a moment of vulnerability that will cost him – and that he’s about to lose – but Donghyuck still manages to surprise him, as he runs forward and barrels directly into Mark.

They crash to the ground together, and Mark groans as he feels the back of his head hit, but immediately starts fighting back, and it turns into wrestling, pushing and punching and scuffling in the dirt. Donghyuck is near laughing, as he brackets his knees around Mark’s waist and pins his arms down, smiling face hovering closely above Mark’s as they both pause, heavy breathing hot and electric between them.

“Ready to give up, Lord Commander?”

Donghyuck’s voice is breathless with exertion, but still light and playful, and so full of gloating victory that Mark looks up at him with narrowed eyes. Of course he’d use Mark’s title – which he himself gave to Mark – to rub in his own victory.

After a long moment that Donghyuck seems to consider a surrender, he begins to back off, and Mark takes the opportunity to push him and roll them over. He reverses their position, bracketing his hips and pinning Donghyuck down with strong arms. He barely starts to breath out a “never” before Donghyuck brings a knee up and gives him a kick – mercifully light – to the groin instead.

Mark yelps and falls to the side with a loud moan, curling into himself in real surrender as Donghyuck sits up beside him.

“You fight dirty,” Mark finally says, glaring up at him.

“Sparring with me was _your_ idea,” Donghyuck points out in response, goading.

“I’m not sure _that,_” Mark argues as he finally sits up, breathing deeply, “entirely counted as sword fighting, _Your Highness._”

He looks back to Donghyuck, whose bright smile just brightens, whose skin is glowing golden in the low sun, and Mark loves him.

✸

“Mark, your head is bleeding.”

Donghyuck stops walking and grips Mark’s arm to make him stop, too, leaning in to inspect the back of his head.

“Am I?”

He knew he’d hit his head one of the times he’d hit the ground, but the rush of adrenaline had numbed it, and it was only just starting to really ache. He reaches back to feel at it, hand brushing across dried blood before Donghyuck grabs at his wrist to pull it away.

“Careful. Yes, there’s a lot,” Donghyuck sounds concerned, and Mark can feel his breath brush across the back of his neck and shoulder. “Do you feel lightheaded at all?"

“No, just a little sore."

"Can you make it back to camp?”

“Yes, I feel fine,” Mark answers, turns his head to look back at him, a bit amused, and, somewhere distantly inside, almost offended. But when he sees the concern in the king's face, he softens, and adds quietly, “I’m alright, sire. I promise.” 

It seems to pacify Donghyuck’s concerns for the moment, but when they get back to camp, he stops Mark before he’s about to break away to head to his own tent.

“Mark,” Donghyuck places a warm, firm hand just inside Mark’s elbow. “Come with me, let me look at that head wound. This cut on your arm, too.”

“Sire, you don’t have t-”

“Mark,” his king says. “Come with me.” 

✸

Donghyuck’s hands are gentle.

They shouldn’t be, Mark thinks, with how long they’ve been in the wild, fighting to survive, day to day. With how strong he knows Donghyuck has become over the years in the desert, dried by the sun, hardened with loss.

He’s watched fire erupt from Donghyuck’s hands, fierce and strong, unstoppable, watched it burn through cloth and skin and chains, for power, for vengeance, for freedom.

But here, in Donghyuck’s tent, in the light of glowing embers and wrapped in dark shadows, there is only gentleness. 

He squeezes a cloth above a basin of water and brings it to the back of Mark’s head, dabbing at the dried blood all around the already closed over wound. It’s really not bad, but Mark senses that Donghyuck still takes responsibility for it. He smiles quietly to himself, with Donghyuck safely behind him and out of sight of it.

Donghyuck’s voice is gentle, too, when he finally speaks: “You fought well today.”

“I should hope so,” Mark answers, amused. “I _am_ your Lord Commander. You did as well.”

“I _am_ your king,” Donghyuck fires back.

“Not all kings are good swordsmen,” Mark points out.

“I am,” Donghyuck states, and Mark can hear the smile in his voice and the splash of water as he rinses the cloth in the basin. 

“Yes, you are.”

“It was a good fight,” Donghyuck says as he comes around to sit by Mark’s side, and Mark finally sees the smile on his lips. “Here, let me see your arm.”

Mark makes a noise of agreement, and puts his arm out slowly, bringing the bloody gash spread jagged down his forearm into the light. Donghyuck curls one hand underneath his arm, gently pulling it to hold nearly in his lap, and begins wiping at it with the clean cloth.

Mark can’t help but say, then, “You did fight dirty, though.”

“I don’t remember us setting any ground rules beforehand,” Donghyuck teases, eyes flicking up to meet Mark’s. He’s so close, and Mark can see the shapes of the flames dancing in his eyes. “Who am I to not use the tools and skills available to me?”

Donghyuck looks back to his arm, and Mark is quiet for a moment, nearly holding his breath, watching Donghyuck gently wipe at his gash, turning the cloth to a cleaner patch. He looks at the tattoos running up Donghyuck’s arms. This close, he can see the details inside each one, the fine lines crossing each diamond, careful and bold. 

“You didn’t use your fire.”

This makes Donghyuck pause, too, looking up at Mark curiously before raising an eyebrow, small playful smirk still playing on his lips. “We were only sparring, Mark. That’d hardly be fair.”

There’s another comfortable silence as Donghyuck gets up to put the bloody cloth back into the basin of water, and comes back with a strip of clean bandaging.

Mark finally speaks again as Donghyuck starts to gently wrap the cloth around his arm.

“He taught you to fight, didn’t he?”

Donghyuck’s hands slow, but don’t stop.

“Yes,” he answers, voice quiet but sure. Mark thinks that’s all he’s going to say for a long moment, before he continues, “The Khal, he – John.” He pauses, and Mark can see his eyelashes flutter as he blinks, can hear the tenderness in his voice as he speaks, and his heart aches for him. “John would spar with me, yes. He taught me to fight like they teach their own youth, their warriors.”

“That’s a great honor.”

“It is,” Donghyuck answers, voice distant but still warm. He finishes the wrappings around Mark’s arm and his hands linger on his arm, neither of them making any movement to move it from Donghyuck’s lap. Mark rests his hand on Donghyuck’s thigh instead.

“He made you strong.”

“_I_ made me strong,” Donghyuck says simply, finally looking up at Mark with an almost challenging expression. And then he adds, after a moment, gentler, “John taught me so much.”

Donghyuck slides his hand down Mark’s arm to rest over his hand, and looks forward into the fire. Mark watches his face carefully as he speaks, the smoothness of his skin rounding the tip of his nose, the curve of his lips as they whisper memories.

“He did this with me, too, after we’d spar. It was rough; the Dothraki fight... relentlessly. As you know,” he smiles, glancing to Mark and then back forward, thumb grazing across Mark’s fingers absentmindedly. “He knew I could take it, though. Knew I was strong. He respected me enough to give me the push I needed to really learn, even if it hurt like hell. We’d fight for hours, far away from camp, where no one could find us or bother us. And then he’d…” Donghyuck’s voice slows, and he glances down to Mark’s arm, wrapped in clean linen. “He’d take me home. Clean my cuts, wrap my wounds.”

“He took care of you,” Mark says, voice quiet. 

The fire flashes orange and yellow in his king’s eyes.

“Yes.”

“He loved you.”

Donghyuck finally turns to Mark, and curls his hand fully around Mark’s, fingers slipping under his palm. He holds Mark’s gaze, heavy.

“Yes.”

It’s not a revelation, that John loved Donghyuck. That Donghyuck loved John. Not even that John went against tradition and expectations and decorum to train Donghyuck, to teach him, to love him.

The revelation is in the gentleness of Donghyuck’s lips as he presses them against Mark’s, the tenderness of his hand curled round Mark’s, the love breathed out of his mouth and directly into Mark’s chest, his lungs, his heart.

It’s in the way Donghyuck turns his head to slide their lips together even closer, and Mark can’t believe his lips were created for anything else.

It’s in the way Donghyuck pulls away far too soon, but Mark can see in his eyes and his smile that he loves Mark, too.

“Sire – ”

“You know you can call me Donghyuck,” he interrupts, small smile still on his lips, voice still just a breath between them.

“You are still my King, though,” Mark says faithfully, affectionately. He’s called Donghyuck by his name before, though, in moments like these. Quiet, warm. Theirs.

“And you are my Lord Commander,” Donghyuck says, and as he speaks he brings Mark’s hand up to press it to his own cheek, eyes never leaving Mark’s. His skin is hot to the touch. “But you and I are not just that, are we.”

Flames burn warm behind his eyes, warm and inviting, like a hearth in the midst of a long winter, and it’s not a question.

Mark loves him.

Mark kisses him again.

✸

“You’re filthy.”

Donghyuck’s voice is quiet in Mark’s ear, but Mark can still hear the teasing in his tone. After so many years with Donghyuck, it’s like a native language. 

Donghyuck is sat in Mark’s lap, knees bracketing his hips, sitting back on his thighs, strong, heavy, warm. It’s an echo of their position in the clearing, but this – well, Mark’s not fighting this. (His heart is racing the same.)

He only hums in response, his mouth busy sucking bruises onto the tender skin beneath Donghyuck’s earlobe, and his king speaks again.

“You’re filthy, _Commander._”

Mark finally brings his head back and doesn’t try to hide his displeasure at being stopped when he meets Donghyuck’s eyes. They’re somehow still shining, even with the fire behind him casting his face into shadow. 

“Oh, stop looking so disappointed, Mark,” Donghyuck says with a laugh. His eyes flicker around Mark’s face as he speaks, down to his lips, which Mark can feel are swollen and slick with saliva. “I don’t want to stop, either.”

“Then why did we, hm?” Mark asks, running his hands slowly up Donghyuck’s waist.

Donghyuck just gives him a look that says _be patient, you’ll see,_ and turns to the entrance of the tent. 

_“Jaemin!”_

Donghyuck’s servant pops his head into the tent, and Mark turns his head away, flushing in embarrassment. Donghyuck shamelessly greets him with a pleasant smile and a _good evening,_ as though he isn’t currently on top of and wrapped around Mark. 

“Yes, sire?”

Donghyuck turns back to Mark and grips his chin between his fingers and thumb, makes him meet his eyes as he makes his command.

“Prepare a bath.”

✸

It’s almost awkward, for a few moments, while Jaemin comes in and out, carrying in the washbasin, filling it with buckets of hot water, swirling in oils and soaps from small jars. But Donghyuck is comfortable with Jaemin, and trusts him, so Mark wills himself – and all the desire bubbling up inside him – to relax. 

Donghyuck at least has the decency, or perhaps the _mercy,_ to get off of Mark’s lap as they wait, and instead sits pressed beside him, Mark’s arm pulled back into his lap, absentmindedly playing with his hand. He speaks quietly of frivolous things that Mark will most definitely forget in favor of memorizing the feeling of Donghyuck’s thigh pressed to his, the warmth of Donghyuck’s breath on his face, the way his own breathing halts as Donghyuck’s hands slowly move to untie the belt around his waist.

Donghyuck carries on speaking, something about vulnerabilities on the west side of camp, or food rations, maybe; Mark doesn’t process a word, as Donghyuck slowly pulls the belt from his waist and drops it to the bench beside him. He immediately starts working at the strings of cloth tying up Mark’s leather vest, and Mark realizes that Jaemin has finished and is nowhere to be seen, and they are alone.

“And if General Lee _insists_ that we allow – “

“Sire,” Mark interrupts, leather vest now falling open to reveal his tan tunic beneath. Donghyuck looks up and stops talking. “Donghyuck,” he says, softer.

Donghyuck looks back at him for a moment, his hands sliding beneath the leather and across Mark’s chest without breaking eye contact, and Mark can feel the heat of his hands, just the thin layer of fabric left between them. Donghyuck’s hands grip at the tunic, gathering in his fists, and he pulls Mark forward to press their lips together. 

Mark’s mouth opens easily for Donghyuck, and he licks hotly inside. His hands move to fully push the vest off of Mark’s shoulders, and it falls to the ground behind him. As soon as Mark’s arms are free he presses back into Donghyuck, runs his hands up Donghyuck’s waist, bites at Donghyuck’s bottom lip, feels Donghyuck pulling at his tunic, grabbing, pulling, every point of contact _burning._

It takes Mark every ounce of self-control to finally tear his lips free with a gasp, pressing his forehead back against Donghyuck’s.

“Donghyuck,” he repeats, and his voice is gravelly. “We’re filthy.”

Donghyuck breathes out a laugh. He presses one last kiss to Mark’s mouth that again ends far too quickly and stands up. Mark instantly misses his warmth against his side.

“Come on, then. While it’s still hot.”

They undress, and Mark doesn’t even try to avert his eyes as Donghyuck pulls his clothes away slowly and leaves them in a heap on the ground. He watches his every movement, as Donghyuck works the golden band from his upper arm and sets it on the bench, followed by each of his ornate rings. Firelight glows around the long, soft edges of his body as he climbs into the basin of steaming water, and Mark is helpless to do anything but watch, and follow.

Donghyuck sinks in and lets out a sigh of relief, eyes falling closed in contentment, and Mark sinks in opposite him, his knees pulled up to his chest, careful to keep his newly wrapped arm above the water. It’s a large tub, but even a king’s tub is still a tight fit for two grown men, and he tangles his legs between Donghyuck’s, calves brushing against each other, their knees sticking up out of the water.

Mark watches Donghyuck’s face, the slight upturn of his lips, his eyelashes against his cheek, the flickering shadow of his nose. He watches as Donghyuck’s eyelids open slowly, lazily, and Mark is caught staring. He doesn’t look away.

Instead he finds Donghyuck’s leg with his arm in the water and curls a hand around his calf, slowly moving his hand up and down, gently massaging, encouraged by the way Donghyuck’s eyelids flutter with every tiny squeeze.

“Feels nice,” Donghyuck says quietly, and Mark hums in agreement. After a moment, soft smile not leaving his lips, he speaks again, “Come here.”

Mark tilts his head, blinking, hand stopping. “Me?”

“No, the other person in this bath with us,” Donghyuck answers, laughing softly. “Yes, you. Turn around and come here.”

Mark blinks at him again, deliberating, and when Donghyuck looks back at him with only open invitation, he finally moves. The water sloshes around as they rearrange, Donghyuck opening his legs the full width of the bath to allow Mark to rotate and sit between them. He settles down at a respectable distance, sat between Donghyuck’s knees, until Donghyuck places his hands low on his waist and tugs him backwards, with another soft command of, “come _here._”

He scoots back until Donghyuck’s chest is pressed to his back, his thighs pressing into either side of Mark’s hips, and Donghyuck wraps his arms around Mark, and pulls him close. His head comes down to rest on Mark’s shoulder, and Mark can feel his hair tickling his ear, feels the soft rush of air down the back of his arm as Donghyuck exhales.

They stay like that for a long moment, warm and still, Donghyuck’s heartbeat echoing in Mark’s chest, and Mark feels something that he’s not sure he’s ever felt before, deep in his bones. With Donghyuck pressed to him, skin to skin, head to toe, it’s more than warmth, it’s more than comfort. It’s more, even, than love. Those feelings aren’t new to Mark. You come to know warmth and comfort like old friends, when you’re in love with fire, same as you come to know destruction and an all-consuming blaze.

He feels Donghyuck breathe deeply behind him, his chest expanding and contracting in a steady rhythm, and he closes his eyes, and feels _peace._

Donghyuck is the first to break the silence, and Mark can feel Donghyuck’s throat vibrate against his back as he speaks.

“I wouldn’t be here without you, Mark.”

Mark is silent. He doesn’t trust his voice to not betray the emotion roiling through his chest, and hopes that the hitch of his breath, the lean of his head into Donghyuck’s, the pounding of his heart beneath Donghyuck’s hands, conveys enough.

Eventually Donghyuck loosens his arms enough to pick his head up, and he presses one lingering kiss to Mark’s shoulder, and then another, higher, before pulling away. The water splashes as he reaches out to the pedestal beside them to retrieve a washcloth and his soap.

As soon as Mark realizes his intention, he twists around quickly, looking back at Donghyuck, eyes wide.

“Sire, you don’t have to bathe me–”

“Mark.”

“ – you’re a _king,_ I can wash myself, don’t b –”

“_Mark,_” Donghyuck repeats, insistent.

“Donghyuck,” Mark sighs, eyebrows still furrowed together.

Donghyuck brings a wet hand up to Mark’s cheek.

“So stubborn,” he says with a smile, thumb brushing Mark’s cheekbone. “It’s okay. A good king takes care of his people, you know.” As he speaks, he brings the cloth back up out of the water and to Mark’s shoulder, lathering the soap beneath it and swiping across his skin, and Mark is helpless but to turn back around and give in to his touch. The last words are spoken quietly into Mark’s ear, and make shivers roll down his spine, “Let me take care of you.”

He begins scrubbing Mark’s whole upper body, carefully avoiding the clean bandaging on his arm, and Mark relaxes into it, letting Donghyuck move him around as he needs, hands and cloth gentle against his skin.

As he works, he speaks to Mark in a quiet voice.

“Taking control after John died was… hard. So many people looking to me to lead, so many decisions to make. But it felt… right. _Feels_ right. This was what I’m meant to be. It’s in my blood; it’s my birthright to rule. I knew I had the power to, and I had my dragons, but the Dothraki are fierce, and this world is cruel. The road ahead of me seemed so long.”

Donghyuck finishes washing Mark’s upper body and moves on to his head, tilting it back and pouring cupfulls of water over his crown, lathering the soap into Mark’s hair, running his fingers through it, massaging his scalp. Mark stays silent.

“John’s death was… It broke something in me. I had lost control of myself, when John died, and I… Well, you saw me that day. I was pure fury, pure power, and my husband, my strength, was gone.”

He finishes washing Mark’s head and his hands come to settle flat on Mark’s back. His voice is barely above a whisper.

“My father used to tell me that bearing power, _true_ power, is a lonely path. I thought, at first, that I was beginning to understand that. Being forced to understand it.”

Mark feels affection rushing through him, affection and _pride,_ at Donghyuck’s strength, at how far he’s come, at the trust between them, these quiet confessions spoken to Mark alone, naked in the dark.

“But I was never really alone, was I?”

Mark turns around quickly, suddenly, wanting, _needing,_ to meet Donghyuck’s eyes in that moment. The movement is loud in the quiet surrounding them, and he’s twisted awkwardly, Donghyuck’s knee pressing into his back, but all he can feel is the affection coursing through his veins, the warmth of Donghyuck’s cheeks as his hands move to cup his face tightly.

He opens his mouth, takes a slow, steadying breath, looking between Donghyuck’s eyes, and his voice comes out far more steady than he feels.

“For as long as I live, Donghyuck… My king. I will be by your side.”

His thumb brushes across Donghyuck’s cheek, and Donghyuck leans closer, Mark’s promise a breath between their lips.

“I swear it.”

✸

The water is nearly lukewarm, Mark registers distantly, as a breeze of cool air brushes on his wet hair. And then Donghyuck places his hands atop Mark’s where they’re set on his waist and pushes them lower, lower, lower, dragging, slow, and every other sensation leaves him but the feeling of Donghyuck’s skin under his fingers, the taste of Donghyuck on his tongue.

He’s climbed into Mark’s lap again, after pulling him to turn back around completely, lifted his hips and settled down on Mark’s thighs. It’s still too tight in the bath, Mark’s feet pushed uncomfortably against the edge, and he knows Donghyuck’s knees are squished between his hips and the side of the bath, but his bare skin is warm on Mark’s thighs, and Mark wouldn’t give it up for anything. He uses his hands around Donghyuck to pull him even closer, every inch of skin on skin setting fires just beneath, closer, hotter, until their hips brush against each other, and their lips break apart with a gasp.

Mark presses back in, trailing open-mouthed kisses down Donghyuck’s jaw, and moves down to lick at the droplets of water settled at his collar, his tongue darting out, dragging it halfway up Donghyuck’s neck. It makes Donghyuck clutch at Mark’s arms, rolling his hips forward again, and Mark gasps against Donghyuck’s neck, feels the rumble of Donghyuck’s own low moan beneath his lips.

“Mark,” Donghyuck moans out with his next breath, his voice deep and breathless, and the sound is like a match striking Mark’s stomach, seared into his memory. “Mark,” he repeats, finally backing away, eyes meeting Mark’s with his pupils wide and dark, “Let’s get out of the bath.”

Mark nods quickly, and then pauses, eyes glancing down at the rest of Donghyuck’s body, ignoring the warmth churning inside him, “Wait, you – we – uh. We never actually finished bathing.”

“Oh,” Donghyuck sighs, shoulders falling a bit, “Yes, alright.”

He reaches back for the soap and cloth, and Mark lets go of him and tries to start sliding back, to give Donghyuck space to wash himself. Donghyuck, though, just presses his hips down onto Mark’s thighs firmly, clenches his knees around Mark’s hips.

“Stay,” he commands simply, not even looking at Mark, knowing he doesn’t need to. Mark will always stay. 

Mark watches, helpless, as Donghyuck lathers the soap and drags the cloth slowly across his skin, washing his chest, his arms, down his thighs, around his back. The light of the fire glistens off wet skin, flecks of gold and orange flickering in the dark, hypnotizing.

Donghyuck’s hand disappears beneath the water between them, and Mark tries to stifle the way his breath hitches at the sight, at the accidental brush of Donghyuck’s hand. Donghyuck laughs at him – maybe not accidental, then – and Mark flushes and glances away, keeping his eyes glued on the fire across the room.

Donghyuck brings one warm hand to Mark’s cheek, gently pulling his gaze back to meet his own, other hand still beneath the surface of the water. 

“Getting distracted?” 

Mark swallows. “Being patient.”

“You have been very good, waiting for me,” Donghyuck says, voice sweet with fondness. “For all this time.”

Mark feels the weight of it, and the joy of it, his love, the pull, the exposure, yanked out from deep in his chest, being seen, known, loved back. 

“And you’ve been a tease.”

“You’re easy to tease.”

His hand accidentally brushes against Mark again, and Mark’s eyes flutter closed with an exhale. 

“Donghyuck. _Please._”

Mark’s eyes are still closed when he feels Donghyuck’s hand on his chin, lifting his face, and then the tender press of Donghyuck’s lips against his own.

Donghyuck pulls back just enough to speak, the movement brushing their lips together gently, “What do you want, Mark?”

Mark kisses him again, and again, slow, warm, his answer spoken on breaths between them, “You know what I want.”

“Mmm,” Donghyuck hums into Mark’s mouth, “To be mine.”

Mark tears his lips away and moves them up Donghyuck’s jaw, “I’m already yours.” He bites at Donghyuck’s skin, at his earlobe, voice low, gravelly, hungry, “I want to make you _mine.”_

✸

He’s never seen anyone like Donghyuck at all, Mark thinks, as they finally step out of the bath minutes later, and he watches Donghyuck pat himself dry, marveling at his body, toned muscle moving beneath golden skin, knowing the weight of it, the warmth of it, the taste of it.  
He puts a hand out for Mark to take, leads him toward his bed, and just before reaching it Mark tugs on Donghyuck’s hand, making him turn back. He raises it to his mouth and presses a kiss to the smooth skin of Donghyuck’s hand, to the diamond-shaped scales circling his wrist.

He tastes like their bath oils, honey and lavender, sweet on Mark’s tongue as he trails slow kisses up Donghyuck’s arm, stepping closer, drawn in like a moth to a flame. His arm curls round Donghyuck’s waist, drawing him close, biting into the skin of his neck, the blood of dragons pumping just beneath like lava.

His lips barely leave Donghyuck’s skin, as he pushes him down gently, lays him out, kissing down his chest, up his thighs, biting him, claiming him, loving him. He doesn’t take his mouth away until Donghyuck’s breath is coming short, until all Mark’s senses are filled with _him_, until his fingers are clutching tightly in Mark’s hair and pulling him off with a gasp. 

Mark kisses back up his chest, kisses his breathless mouth, gets pushed away and rolled down onto the soft furs. Donghyuck climbs over him, straddles Mark’s hips.

“You like it like this, don’t you?” Mark says with a laugh, and then, minutes later, his laughter replaced with gasps, moans catching in his throat, “You’re so – ah – so good like this.”

Donghyuck just leans down to suck Mark’s lips into a messy kiss, sinks his hips back down with a jerk.

“I know.” 

It’s a constant revelation, seeing Donghyuck like this, feeling him, filling him, burning up with him. They move together, always a balance, a dance, a give and take. Donghyuck’s hands are hot against Mark’s stomach, every touch aflame, and Mark digs his nails into Donghyuck’s thighs, pulls him closer, deeper, begging the flames to scald his skin, to leave scars across his chest, evidence that he has given all of himself to Donghyuck, as Donghyuck gives all of himself to Mark.

Donghyuck doesn’t need to ask Mark to stay, after, Mark’s promise still scorched onto their lips, their hearts. Mark pulls him close and falls asleep holding his king, his love, pure heat and beauty, power and life, fire and blood.

**Author's Note:**

> tysm for reading!!! pls lmk if you liked it ♡♡♡♡
> 
> i would also LOVE to talk more about this au so feel free to chat if you want!!! [twt](https://twitter.com/polyjaemin) // [cc](https://curiouscat.me/polyjaemin)


End file.
